


I want to be with you to where the sea sleeps (However the waves, I’ll hold on)

by ImberReader



Series: Tomorrow (with you) [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, In plural!, Jaime as Brienne's Sworn Sword in aftermath of Long Night, Jaime has considerable amount of thoughts on marriage, Proposals, Step by step learning and building of what can be a happily-ever-after, Still shades of pining and yearning because that's just how they roll, actual adults having actual conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/pseuds/ImberReader
Summary: Jaime discovers that the difference between loving Brienne quietly and loving her with a future unfolding ahead of them is separated by a difference the width of the Straits of Tarth. Now, with their return to Winterfell imminent, he has to find the words that will bridge it.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tomorrow (with you) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734799
Comments: 19
Kudos: 84





	I want to be with you to where the sea sleeps (However the waves, I’ll hold on)

**Author's Note:**

> Who thought this 'verse was completed? Me, probably. 
> 
> Alas, it's not and this isn't final installment either. 
> 
> And, of course, this one broke my self-imposed rule of 'write it in one frenzied night and stick to 1-1.5k words' for this series. 
> 
> ~~Why do I keep writing proposals? WHY.~~
> 
> As always, all the love to the most wonderful [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde), who had to read through essentially _two_ versions of this fic and wrangle it in united shape.
> 
> Title from wonderful [Where the sea sleeps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpeUwWbHlnY) by Even of Day/Day6 which is excellent proposal/marriage/romantic bond song and you can't change my mind.

Jaime discovered that the difference between loving Brienne quietly and loving her with a future unfolding ahead of them was separated by a difference the width of the Straits of Tarth. Not wide enough to be uncrossable, but very disorientating when one suddenly found themselves in the middle of the Shipbreaker bay with little but oars and sense of direction to get them the rest of the way.

It was not that he hadn't thought of pressing sweet, lingering kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her hands at every opportune moment. Of loving her with open sincerity that felt as foreign as his own right hand of flesh and blood would have felt now, but just as welcome. Of wedding her and watching the eventual sunset of his life glow brighter for the way the sea of her reflected the light.

He had, so much that the want and the dreams had all blurred together and he could not tell which had come first any longer. But he had never thought much of how to proceed from one scene to another, other than carried by the whim of his imagining mind.

So now that Jaime had to face these questions, he felt rather at a loss.

A sennight had passed since the Festival of Mother, a night when bonfires and music, and wine (but no regret) had swept Brienne toward him and him into her arms.

They had not spoken of the _whats_ and _hows_ , a discomforting echo of secrecy prickling at Jaime, but she did not protest when he'd hold her hand and entwine their fingers or greet her with a kiss in the morning. So if she had intended to keep it secret, she had put in the least amount of effort he had ever seen her using.

Even Selwyn Tarth, who had welcomed him simply and fairly, before warming to his presence gradually and then all at once, had taken notice and spoken to him - well before the night bonfires and wine had lit courage or desire in Brienne's heart to kiss him.

"The day you arrived and she showed you around Evenfall Hall, I thought - I know my daughter still, as grown as she may be now, but I did not know she could smile like that. Or looked at the way you do," her father had said and Jaime had bristled on Brienne's behalf, half swallowing a sharp comment because she loved her father, and equally wanting to say it all the more exactly because of that. 

"Consider me chastised," the older man had chuckled, taking notice of the shift in his expression, before growing somber and clasping a large hand on Jaime's shoulder. There were few people who could make Jaime feel small but not insignificant (like his own father had made a habit of), but it seemed to be a shared Tarth trait.

"I have made my share of grave mistakes, and many of them regarding her, and though Kingslayer would not have been my first choice of her husband then… a man that makes her happy, I will gladly take for my godson now, Ser Jaime." Selwyn had used the title before, but it was deliberate now in a way that pressed in Jaime's ribcage with an odd sort of warmth. Back then, there had been a tinge of bitterness, too, for for all of the encouraging words, Brienne's heart had seemed as far as the moon it outshone.

But now?

Now the chance to call her wife felt was close as the brisk, seasalt whispering breeze he could feel upon his face. He had come to the lighthouse to take in the sight as well as to seek some answers, as if he could scry them upon the horizon.

It was not that he doubted his feelings, or even Brienne's. He had confessed to loving her that very first night, but much like the gods, she hadn't said anything in return. Not with her words, though her kisses and hands that held him together and afloat at once sang sweetly. But there had been clouds of disbelief in her eyes, rising with the sun next morning, and they remained there still.

He wasn't good with his words, not when they weren't said in retaliation to a strike that hadn't always come, or passionate pleas - but even those had fallen on deaf ears. Whenever he thought of how to ask, it came out too mild or overwhelming in a way Brienne might not even believe.

But he could convince her, if not with words then with time poured into courting her, as a lady and knight both. He just needed to make sure she knew it was what he intended. And that her unspoken love wasn’t just for simplicity their unconventional union would offer - a man that’d respect her and trust her and one she could do the same for in return, a sizzle of friendship and echoes of the golden man he had once been. He knew it was not, yet thoughts and knowledge were not always the same.

In similar vein, part of him loathed to think of the long trip to Winterfell, in separate rooms and separate lives still, of touching no more than her hand in the North or stealing kisses like he was sixteen and not a man with decades of bittersweet secrecy beneath his skin. That part of him said: ask her, clumsily if you must, but ask her and she may be stunned enough, caught up in Tarth's golden sun enough, to say yes. Marry her, before she changes her mind or comes to her senses, and sees you for the one handed wreck that carries too many graves with him.

But marriage held no man or woman in the feelings it was borne of, neither love nor hatred though the latter often proved to be more enduring. He had seen far too many women trapped in marriages and he had failed to protect them all, from Rhaella and Elia, to his own once-sweet sister, to ever ask Brienne to bind herself to him without the certainty of lifetime in her heart.

And it always came down to words, but how does one say 'you have born an ocean in me and I wish to grow old by its' side, treasuring you every day'? 

The sea below threw itself against the cliffs as if in sympathy or perhaps a fortune.

Midday approached and so did steps on the lighthouse's stairs. He thought it might be the keeper, but soon they grew familiar and then a blonde head emerged.

Brienne came to lean against the stone edge next to him, silent but equal parts comforting and unsettling in her presence, the way he had to divide his attention between imagining the taste of seaspray on her lips and remembering that he was allowed to discover it now, if only he solved his conundrum first. 

"We should start preparing for departure in a month's time," she spoke, subdued somehow, but he couldn't read her eyes very well when they were fixed on the horizon. 

And with that, the clock that had already been whispering at the back of Jaime's mind began its song in earnest.

"As you wish, my lady," he nodded, watching her hands, pale and tender against the dark stone, curl just so, a far cry from the anger and hurt the title used to invoke. He wanted to hold them, warm and shielded from wind and seaspray upon it.

Her voice was just a touch weary: "Jaime, I am no lady, you know that. It has not changed since we last spoke of it."

Which had been sometime during their journey here, he thought, when he had insisted she took the last room remaining at an inn. As always, he had argued that since swearing himself to her, she could only be free of the title and his service (even if it was to protect her back from hurting) by dismissing him. He had fallen asleep next to her on the narrow bed that night because she had yet to yield a fight.

Jaime didn't wish her to, not even now. The title had not been a weapon for a long time, but a way for secret wishes to be spoken out loud and Brienne deserved to know that, instead of the teasing she always seemed to find in it instead. 

"It is true it has not changed since then - because my meaning has been the same for years now." He again briefly lamented that he could not entwine their fingers atop the rock ledge, for her hands were too far to grasp in anything but desperate reach. (But was that not the nature of this conversation?)

She was looking at him now and he thought there was only a hint of skittishness in her eyes. If he didn't want it to fester endlessly, he had to speak now.

"Brienne, this… isn't a passing flight of fancy to me. Gods know I am incapable of such a thing. If we are to head back to Winterfell, I do not wish to go as your mere swornsword, though that alone is more than I deserve. I love you and it has not been a secret to anyone but you for a long time now."

She inhaled softly, eyes wide, and it was not the first time he said it, but every time felt new and branding still, like it was raising gently from his bones to press warm marks into his skin from beneath, and perhaps not just to him. But Jaime would brand himself a thousand times as hers and still find joy and warmth in it, he knew that as surely as that the sea would forever worship the shore.

He wanted to tell her that, to give her the wedding oaths here if she'd not have them otherwise yet, to give her that before he showed his heart with actions, too, but before he could, Brienne stepped closer and like the moon, she pulled the tide between them to her - and him with it.

"Let's get married, Jaime." Her voice was quiet, but not out of hesitation. She had thought of this, Jaime realized, and later, he'd ask for how long, but right now he marveled in its existence. It was neither demand nor plea and for that alone, he felt swept away by it, toward her, as her hands came to hold his - and the stump.

"Before we leave because I do not wish to wait for years till we return and I'd rather marry here, in my home. We have waited long enough and to spend more time pretending we have not seems wasteful." She was practical even when her heart was spoken softly, and he couldn't love her more for it. But there was flush to her face and a brightness in her eyes that told him of joy tempered by worry.

“You know, I _did_ intend to court you properly before proposing,” he told her, buoyant and like he could float off on this cresting feeling of happiness, finding anchor only in entwining fingers with hers.

Brienne looked soothed at his admission, though it was a faint shade of how much he had wanted to marry her, wanted it still. That his want far outweighed what he could give her, now that he was titleless and more gray than golden in more than shade of his hair.

“But all things considered, I doubt I could top the courting gifts I’ve already given you, so perhaps this is for the best,” Jaime laughed now instead.

She attempted to scoff, but her lips could not be contained in a frown and spilled into a smile almost immediately: “I don’t need them, Jaime, but if you have given me any, they escape my memory.”  
  
“That is surprising, considering you wear one around your waist most days.” She had not today, or most of the days they had spent on Tarth, having also exchanged her blue armor for a brighter blue tunic with rich embroidery and earthly toned breeches that Sansa had gifted her before their departure. There had been visible discomfort about her at the start, like she did not know how to exist without this shell anymore. But gradually, it had eased away, leaving Jaime to marvel at how well peace suited her, too. 

“Surely, not back then?” Brienne asked, disbelief apparent, and he could only laugh at the way they had both lost each other and themselves in this smoke and mirror game they had created, just to protect their hearts.

“Even then, Brienne,” Jaime reassured her softly and watched her jaw go briefly slack, before she bit down on her lip, overcome. To give her a chance to think on it, he did what he always did: ran his mouth.

“And you gave me quite the favor in return, bringing back my honor.” He had meant to say it as a soft jape at the expense of himself, but it came out warm and heavy all at once, like a bundle of truth wrapped in warm furs, spilling at their feet. Because she _had_ , had brought him the second most precious gift in the world, outshone only by her heart. 

At that, she shook her head fiercely, the frown he had already predicted as soon the words left his mouth, settling on her face. “No, Jaime. I did no such thing.”

“You said it yourself - you would do it for Catelyn and _for me_. I never forgot it, it haunted me in some ways. Like a light that I couldn’t follow, nor ignore. I tried. At Riverrun. And the Dragonpit. But you were too bright.” Someday, he would tell her for how long she’d been both the sea and the lighthouse and even the storm to him, crashing in on his cage and beckoning to the rocky coast, welcoming even in its sharpness as it offered a chance to live again. 

“If every man could be inspired into doing the right thing with a few words, the world would be a far better place than it is, Jaime. You were and _are_ a good person, you have made bad choices and good ones, but you only claim the bad ones as your own.” Brienne spoke with conviction and he heard a bell toll in her words, but he could not think of it now when this hadn’t been meant to be about _him_. 

(Later, when he would lay awake at night and spin her light through his fingers like a thread of sunlight, he would examine the sound and try to let the truth of it in his heart of hearts, every night a little more.)

They _had_ spoken of this before, though never quite as plainly, and his heart swelled with bittersweet ache. The way she’d always believe in his goodness while disregarding her own importance was never changing and spoke too loudly of her believed worth. On the road, she had mentioned that Sansa had said thank you to her, for being a good person at the right place and the right time, and he had seen how the acknowledgement had lit her up, though he knew she must have downplayed it.

He wanted her to take pride in her good heart, realize it for the treasure it was to those she shared it with, instead of finding a way to reflect it back at him. "Even so, without you, I would not have remembered that there was a way to _make them_. That there is still honor and love left in me and _for me_."

Her fingers tightened around his, dug in the soft cover over his stump, but not enough to hurt him. She was capable of it, in more ways than she knew, but she always treaded around even these underwater rocks and he wanted to kiss thank yous for that into her skin every day.

"I do know you are not a lighthouse that needs a keeper, Brienne, But if you do wish someone to be by your side, to tend to your needs and guard your light when you are weary, if that can be me… it would be my true happiness and my honor," his voice grew choked at the end, because even that wasn’t enough to express what it’d mean to him. What being next to her already was.

She leaned down just so, her forehead pressing against his, and her smile was a sunrise, slow and unstoppable. 

"I would have no other, Jaime."

His hand trembled as he cupped her jaw, before tiptoeing to kiss her, sweetly and deeply. He hadn't known how much he needed it, to be chosen as the only one, no buts and no ifs, to be treasured in this simplest way he had never known. It was more than any _I love you_ Cersei had ever whispered to him, it was commitment that no matter what life threw or offered to her, her hand would always find his. He wasn't the unconventional but easy choice, he was loved and he would be chosen again and again, through battlefields they had waded through and the ones still ahead. There was no criteria he was going to be weighed against daily, no _mine until this one line_. 

He had known that and yet, her words rebuilt castles in him that had never been finished or fallen to sieges of pain and shame and rejection years ago.

When they parted, breathless, Brienne rested her forehead against his again and there was a glimmer of tears in her eyes, like the joy in her was too much to be contained, and he thought of a room in Winterfell, a lifetime and so many ways of loving ago. Thought of all the things he could do to recreate this feeling again and again for her. For his bride. His wife. 

Her hand untangled itself from his curls on his nape and cradled his face. Jaime stroked his thumb over her knuckles, soothing little movements as the uncertain seas in them turned to ponds of insecurity and fears, hidden from sight and inconsequential to their current happiness. Eventually, he thought, they would become overgrown enough to be almost completely forgotten, not aching in their depth on most days. 

Then, her smile gave way to soft laughter, eyes warm and full with affection he could drown in, but knew he’d learn to swim instead: “But I _did_ already propose, Jaime. No need to do it twice.”

“I think my lady will agree that it is only fair if I have my chance, too.” He gave her his most obnoxious grin in return.

And if she had any opposition to ‘my lady’ this time, it was stolen from her lips between their kisses by the wind and swept away toward the horizon.


End file.
